


Garden

by Dansnotavampire



Series: The Kepcobi Dua Lipa fic anthology [6]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, M/M, Memories, POV Second Person, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Theyre valid, Wolf 359 finale spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 20:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dansnotavampire/pseuds/Dansnotavampire
Summary: In the two minutes of life you have left, Warren Kepler, you remember.





	Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colonelkepler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonelkepler/gifts).



> Of course inspired by the song Garden by Dua Lipa

In the two minutes of life you have left, Warren Kepler, you remember.

You remember meeting Jacobi - meeting him _properly_ \- in a bar, where he was alone, and angry, and so ready to give up. You remember the way that he spilled his life story far too easily, even counting how much he'd had to drink. You remember thinking that you'd need to work on that, if you ever wanted to take Jacobi into the field.

However, in some small, tucked away part of your mind, (that, given your recent actions, might not have been as tucked away as you thought) you remember the way Jacobi's face lit up with surprise at the thought that someone might _want_ him, want to talk to him and buy him drinks, want to know what his life had been. You remember looking at this tragically beautiful man, with his high cheekbones and his dark eyes, and wanting to fix whatever inside him was broken.

You remember banishing that thought to the dark recesses of his mind. Cutter was counting on you to turn these people into monsters, to exploit their flaws, not heal them.

_Remember when we swam in the ocean?_

_Now we know what's deep inside_

_Remember when we ran in the open?_

_Now we know what's in the wild_

You remember, only a year later, having Jacobi by your side in a field at midnight, watching bursts of fire dance above your heads. You remember the smile on his face, the way the lights had danced in his eyes.

That had been the first time you'd kissed. The two of you were back in the car, avoiding the cold, but still watching the last few fireworks go off. Jacobi had leant on your shoulder, with the mumbled excuse of "You're warm, fuck off," spoken before you'd even said anything about it.

(In hindsight, you hadn't really planned on saying anything.)

You'd grabbed another bag then, and pulled a couple of bottles of beer out. You cracked them open, and handed one to Jacobi, silently. He took it, and drank a solid third of the bottle in one go.

"Sure you don't want something stronger?" You had asked, a gentle tease flirting through his words.

"What, Sir, trying to get me drunk?" Jacobi had quipped back, just as lightheartedly.

"Only if you wanna be, Jacobi."

"Nah," he'd replied. "I want to remember this. 'S the nicest thing anyone's done for me in years."

"Even counting the fact that I let you think I'd forgotten about it?" You'd looked down when he said that, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Okay. Not that. That was mean. But the rest of this has been... nice. Thanks, Sir. Happy special friend day." You clinked your bottles together, your own head coming down to rest on Jacobi's.

"Happy anniversary," you'd said, before draining his own bottle.

Looking back on it now, as you start to lose air, and empty your lungs in the hope that someone - _anyone -_ would come and save you (even if you don't deserve it, even if you're satisfied with this unglorified end) you're still not sure who made the first move that night. All you know is that one moment, Jacobi's head had been resting on your shoulder, and the next, there were a pair of gentle lips pressing on your own, a pair of broad, nimble hands coming up to cup your jaw, your own hands grasping at Jacobi's waist. You'd pulled away, slightly, Jacobi's hot breath still ghosting across his lips, his gunpowder and spice taste still lingering on his tongue.

You had then dived back in for another kiss, pushing Jacobi down against the seat. Jacobi had kissed back just as fiercely, fire and passion and perfect, sublime _heat._

_Used to think that this love was heaven sent_

_How did we get lost, can't get back again_

_Tell me, is there light on the outside?_

You hadn't spoken about it after. It happened again, after good missions when you both were high on adrenaline and the feeling of being alive. After bad missions, when you were both destructive rage and the desire to hurt and be hurt in return. You never talked about it, as though putting words to this _thing_ between you would destroy it.

_So are we leaving this garden of eden?_

_Are we leaving this garden of eden?_

The first time Jacobi stayed the night at yours was... strange, to say the least. Just after a mission, which was normal, but the mission itself _wasn't._

Blood on Jacobi's hands. Physically, not metaphorically.

 _Your_ blood on Jacobi's hands. Him pressing against your side, holding a knife wound shut.

A crooked smile on your face as you felt yourself begin to drift from consciousness, telling Jacobi that he did a good job.

A bitter crack in Jacobi's voice as he told you that you better not die on him, that you were going to survive this.

The scratchy linen of a hospital bed as you came to days later, Jacobi's voice berating you for being so reckless, saying "I should be the one dying for you, idiot, not the other way round!"

You cutting him off with a kiss. His soft, surprised "Oh."

"You're not dying for me, Jacobi."

"Not till you order it, right?"

You laughing, and a couple of days after that, the two of them going back to your apartment with Maxwell. She left halfway through the night, when the alcohol had been out for a few hours, and when Jacobi had spent the entire evening trying (and failing) to stop you from drinking it.

"Painkillers and whiskey don't mix well, Sir."

"You think I care right now, Mr. Jacobi?"

Maxwell had snorted at that, and then slapped Jacobi at his remark about it not being ladylike, and then an hour later, she had left, leaving Jacobi, and you, and a bottle of whiskey.

As a test, Jacobi had inched closer to you, and rested his head on your shoulder, in a very unusual display of affection. You hadn't done anything, but your breath had hitched, slightly, and your shoulders had tensed, the casual intimacy of the gesture something you hadn't really had in years; you and Jacobi did sex. You didn't do curled up together on the couch, watching a shitty film at one in the morning.

Except maybe you could.

You looped your arm around Jacobi's shoulder, and pulled him closer, Jacobi melting into the contact.

Jacobi fell asleep next to you an hour or so later, a gentle, _vulnerable_ smile on his face.

You picked him up, and carried him to bed, before slipping in beside him.

"Night, Daniel," you whispered.

Obviously, you didn't get a reply.

_Used to walk around your apartment_

_With nothing, but a smile on me_

_But tonight I'm so self conscious_

_Isn't it so clear to see_

_Nothing's ever perfect in paradise_

_Don't know what it's worth 'til you pay the price_

_When you bite your tongue does it draw blood?_

You smile at the memory. Jacobi then was a far cry from who he was now; but there were still bits of him left. He was bitter and grieving, of course, and he'd tried to _kill_ you, but.

But he still believed that you could do good. That you could make the right choice.

And you had. You, Warren Kepler, had done the right thing, had _saved the world_ , and it had killed you.

It was kind of bittersweet, in the same way that the entire trip on the Urania had been.

Jacobi had been closed off, not vulnerable like he'd allowed himself to be before, but a man made into a weapon. You had returned the favour, taking Jacobi to your bed and not mentioning it the next morning, and not going to him when you heard the practically silent sobs that came in the wake of nightmares.

Maxwell had judged you each and every time that happened, because you were their commanding officer, and you should've been taking fucking care of them, you prick.

Of course, you were still the same dysfunctional family they'd always been, but things were different. Fragile. Jacobi looked smaller, frailer. You couldn't work out what had happened. Maxwell could, probably, but you would never have asked her, and she wouldn't have told you.

Maybe it was just the job. Years of death, and blood, and destruction catching up with him. Jacobi had always been the most human of them, after all. He was always going to be the first to break.

You all recovered, of course. Not perfectly, and not in a way that would've stuck, but in a way that was enough. In a way that would have to be, for you to fix the unfixable, and save the Hephaestus station.

_So are we leaving this garden of eden?_

_Are we leaving this garden of eden?_

_Now I know what I know_

_But it's hard to find the meaning_

_Where do we go? '_

_Cause we don't believe in this garden of eden_

_This garden of eden_

The tense recovery, the tenuous control that you had had over the station, it all broke. And then -

And then you lost Maxwell, and with her, you lost Jacobi. Lost your right hand, and your right hand man in a horribly ironic twist of fate.

Still. Even as a man who was more monster than person, you maybe didn't want you last thoughts to be of mourning.

(It wasn't like anyone would mourn you anyway.)

An earlier memory, one from just after Jacobi had been recruited. Your second or third mission, undercover work at some party, trying to seduce information out of some big buyer. The mission itself wasn't important.

Your actions whilst on it, however? They definitely were.

Three hours in, the two of you were out of the party, in a room with the man who you'd been trying to get information from all night. He'd lead the two of you into a back room, and you'd foolishly, _foolishly_ thought that it'd be easy.

Then he'd pulled a gun on Jacobi. You had felt your stomach drop, and the barest haze of panic begin to cloud your mind. Jacobi had looked at you, gun pressed to his head, his eyes simply telling you to _go._

And it would've been so easy, to just turn around and leave Jacobi behind, at the mercy of this man.

(It'd happened to you, after all.)

You didn't leave. You had raised your gun, and shot the man in the knee, causing his leg to buckle and him to drop to the floor.

The look on Jacobi's face had been so surprised, so honestly shocked, that you'd almost laughed.

"You okay?" you had asked him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he'd replied. His hands were shaking, trembling ever so slightly.

He clenched them into tight fists.

You walked him to your car, a gentle hand on the small of his back.

"You didn't think I'd leave you, did you?"

He had sighed, and just said "It would've been the easiest option."

You'd opened the door to the car, and sat him down.

(His hands were still shaking.)

"Mr. Jacobi," you'd said, "It would indeed have been the easiest option, in the moment."

He looked up. "But?"

"But replacing any SI-5 employee is hard work. But you are an exceptionally talented agent. _But_ Cutter would be inordinately irritated with me, and if you think he's frightening now, then you haven't seen anything."

A wry smile twisted at Jacobi's lips. "So not because you like me?"

"Definitely not, Mr. Jacobi."

_I have cried for you, and I'll ride for you_

_I would die for you, would you do that for me?_

_Tell the truth, what you wanna do_

_Is it me and you?_

_Are you with me, honey?_

_I have cried for you, and I'll ride for you_

_I would die for you, would you do that for me?_

_Tell the truth, what you wanna do_

_Is it me and you?_

_Are you with me?_

In a memory from years later, not long, in fact, before the three of you were sent to the Hephaestus, you and Jacobi wake up together on your couch. Maxwell's asleep on a beanbag, having passed out at around three am when the caffeine in her system finally wore off. Jacobi stretches in a way that would be almost catlike, if not for the way his neck makes a whole host of popping noises.

"May I?" you ask, lifting your hands go his neck. At his slight, hesitant nod, you dug your thumbs in, massaging away the aches and stiffness from his awkward sleeping position. He leans back into your touch, and gasps.

The gesture is not sexual, or sensuous, but it is... intimate. Not from the nature of the contact, but because Jacobi has seen what your hands can do, has watched a you break bones with nothing but the strength you hold within you. Your fingers reach round and press ever-so-lightly against his throat, and you feel him swallow. It would be so easy to kill him, there and then, a twitch of your fingers to crush his throat and stop his lungs. The air has taken on a different energy, crackling with potential, with all the different ways this encounter could go.

"Daniel?" you ask. "Do you trust me?"

Without hesitation, he responds "With my life, Sir."

You press your fingers slightly harder into his throat, then pull your hands away completely, your chest still intimately close to his back.

"I'm glad."

You smooth his hair with one hand, then nudge him to the side so you can stand. "Are you staying for breakfast?" you ask, though just as a courtesy. He always stays for breakfast. You don't even wait for a reply before asking "What do you want?"

"French toast. Or pancakes. Whichever, really, I don't mind."

Ten minutes later, you're flipping a pancake while his head is on your shoulder, and Maxwell's ignoring the pair of you as she roots through your cupboards in search of cereal. The silence in the room is comfortable, and fits like a well-worn glove.

This is your favourite memory of the three of you, you think.

_So are we leaving this garden of eden?_

_Are we leaving this garden of eden?_

_Now I know what I know_

_But it's hard to find the meaning_

_Where do we go?_

_'_ _Cause we don't believe in this garden of eden_

_This garden of eden_

A few weeks and one mission that even you won't talk about later, you call Maxwell and Jacobi to your office.

"I'm going to space."

Maxwell furrows her brows in confusion. " _You're_ going to space?"

"It'll be dangerous. Cutter wants me to go and put the Hephaestus situation to rights. I want you two to come with me, but you don't have to. If you'd rather stay here, I can find someone else."

Maxwell grins. "When do we leave?"

Jacobi doesn't say anything, but you know that he'll go if Maxwell does. (Hopefully, he'd've gone anyway, but... You wouldn't have blamed him if he said no.)

"We go tomorrow. Maxwell, pack what you need and go and finish up any projects that you can. You're dismissed. Jacobi, wait behind."

"On it, Sir," Maxwell says, then spins on the ball of her foot, the rubber of he sneakers squeaking slightly against the floor, and walks away.

Jacobi's lip twitches. "What did you want to say to me, Sir?" His voice is like a blank sheet of paper, not even his usual dry sarcasm present to colour his words.

"Are you only coming for Maxwell?"

He inhales sharply; he wasn't expecting you to ask that, you assume. "Yes - no. Maybe. I - I'm not sure, Sir."

"It's fine if you are. I know you two care about eachother; it's good. As long as I can trust you to do what you need to when we're up there, I'm not overly fussed about your motivations." You're not sure if you're lying. You're not sure if you care.

"Why did you offer us the chance to not go?"

You could tell him it was a test, that he'd've been going regardless, but for once, hiding the truth probably won't help you.

"But not the biggest you've ever done, Sir?"

You knew he'd pick up on that.

"I've done this before. The Hephaestus station is not somewhere people return from easily. Do you trust me?"

And this time the tension in the air is even more palpable, because it's not just his throat that your fingers are clamped around, here. It's Maxwell's, too.

_(And it would be Maxwell that would end up being strangled, wouldn't it?)_

"Well, Sir, you haven't let us die yet." Jacobi says, the _I trust you, I shouldn't, but I do_ hidden in his words so clear to you.

"I will try to not ever let you die, Mr. Jacobi. You're dismissed. Go get some rest, I'll see your bags get packed."

"Thanks, Sir," he says, before turning swiftly on his heel and walking away.

_Remember when we swam in the ocean?_

_Now we know what's deep inside_

_Remember when we ran in the open?_

You're shaken from your memories one final time when your fingers slip from the outer handle of the airlock door. You're hit with a sudden realisation that you are, in fact, going to _die_ here; no one is going to be able to save you. You don't mind, surprisingly. You've done what you needed to.

Jacobi is going to get home. Without you, without Maxwell, without anyone but a makeshift group of friends who would've been fine seeing him dead mere weeks ago, but still _home._

You look back through the airlock window into the ship, and you see, floating there bloody and bruised but _alive,_ Daniel Jacobi.

Your stomach sinks into your chest; he should be back on the Sol, he should be safe, he should be home and as far away from you and Cutter and Pryce and Riemann as possible.

He shouldn't be moving towards your airlock, shouldn't be fumbling at the panel beside it.

The outer door shouldn't be sliding shut. You shouldn't be surviving this, not after everything you've done.

But the inner door is sliding open, air flooding the small space that you're in. Daniel's hands are gripping your arms, hauling you back inside, smears of blood being swiped across your uniform.

You open your mouth to thank him? Maybe. To apologise? Definitely. To tell him that he should've let you die? Probably not at that moment in time, but maybe later.

You don't get the chance to speak, however, because Daniel slaps you across the face.

"I deserved that," you say. _'And worse,'_ you don't, but it's implied.

"Yeah, you did. But save that for later, I need your help."

You straighten up, as much as you can, and look him in the eyes, trying not to think about the bruises surrounding them.

"Okay, Daniel. What do you need me to do?"

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me about these idiots at dansnotavampire on Tumblr


End file.
